


Lipstick Traces

by Alice in Stonyland (Raine_Wynd)



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series, due South
Genre: Crossover, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-02
Updated: 2002-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-02 09:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Alice%20in%20Stonyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people are unforgettable, and sometimes, coincidence isn't a good thing....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lipstick Traces

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Misha for the quick beta.

Sixteen years, four months and seven days. That's how long it had been since I'd last seen her before yesterday, but there was no mistaking that face, that body. Some people you just don't forget, no matter how long it's been. There'd been a time when I wished I could have. She'd haunted me for longer than I cared remember, popping into my head in the oddest moments — and sometimes, the most inappropriate ones.

See, she was the one I wasn't supposed to have. All I'd ever wanted was Stella — Stella, who understood me, who'd known me for years, who'd gone to prom with me. The thought that I'd ever be with anyone else scared me. The one thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't gonna be like my old man, trapped in a factory the rest of his life — and when Stella started talking about what she was gonna do after high school, I got scared. She was talking about leaving Chicago; going off to be somebody, maybe attend college out of state. It was bad enough she didn't have to worry about paying for college, the way I did, and she was smart enough that there were colleges willing to pay her way. I didn't want to lose her. I told her — no, ordered her not to go. She'd gotten angry, lashed out, said I was acting like some punk kid from the wrong side of the tracks, the one insult that always got me going.

I was seventeen, deeply in love with the one girl who'd always seen me as her hero — and I'd just screwed up. Stella had said we were quits. I hadn't believed her until she'd tossed my denim jacket back at me, the one I'd let her borrow and had told my mom had been stolen, the one she'd said she'd always wear because it made her feel as warm as I made her feel.

So I did the only thing I knew how to do — went to drown my sorrows in dancing. Only - I hadn't wanted to go to my usual places. I wandered downtown, and found myself in a club I'd never been in before, hadn't known existed. The bouncer looked at me, looked at my fake ID, and looked about ready to bar me from entering when a sultry woman's voice declared, "He's with me, Jake."

I turned slowly to see a stunning brunette behind me. The red mini-dress hugged every curve and accentuated long legs. She looked like some beauty pageant queen slumming on the bad side of town, but somehow — she belonged. I didn't doubt for a second that the dress she was wearing could've come out of Stella's fashion-horse mom's closet, with a designer name and a price tag to match.

But oh — this lady was something to see. I swallowed hastily, unable to believe my good luck. I might've been young, but I knew trouble when I saw it, and she was it. This woman had class, style, and was at least a good ten years older. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to be the good boy. If this woman wanted to claim me, I wasn't about to stop her.

Yeah, like any red-blooded, broken-hearted seventeen-year-old guy's gonna pass up a beautiful woman who could get him in a bar.

It was more than that, though. I knew I had a choice - to play along or to leave. Going home meant facing my mom's questions about where I'd been, hearing my dad's lecture on how Stella was too good for me, and how he could get me a job at the factory if I would only _apply_ myself... and I didn't want to go.

Acting a part had always come easy to me. Maybe that was why Stella hadn't wanted me in the end — she couldn't tell who I was, even after years of trying. Maybe I hadn't wanted her to. But those thoughts weren't in my head as I instinctively went with the flow and growled, "You're late."

A slight smile curved the stranger's lips as she replied, "Darling, I'm never late. You're just always early." She kissed me slowly, thoroughly, as if we'd been lovers for years. Heat rushed through me at the contact, and I was powerless to stop myself from responding. I'd never had a gorgeous stranger — much less anyone — kiss me like this. For the moment, I forgot Stella, the love of my life, forgot I was standing in the doorway of a unfamiliar bar, forgot everything but the way this stranger's lips felt against mine, the way her mouth moved to kiss me deeply. She tasted faintly of burgundy wine and smelled of something floral but musky. It was a heady combination.

The bouncer's chuckle broke the spell. "All right. But you owe me."

She drew back. Amusement and satisfaction glittered in her dark brown eyes before she turned to pat the burly bouncer on his shoulder. "Thank you, Jake." She leaned close to him, bending just low enough to let him see cleavage, then wrapped an arm around me to nudge me inside. A live band was playing blues, the kind that make you want to dance with a partner, and without asking, my mystery lady drew me onto the dance floor. I wasn't used to a strong partner — Stella could dance, but only if I led — and it took me a bit to realize that Amanda was really the one leading and not me.

"Hey," I protested after a few songs. "You're not supposed to be leading me."

"Does it matter if I am?" she whispered in my ear as she cupped her right hand around the back of my neck and then rubbed lightly. Her deft fingers then swept lower to brush down my spine and cup the left cheek of my ass. At the same time, she brought her body against mine, centering me squarely against her heat.

I couldn't stop the whimper that escaped my throat. I'd never been with someone who breathed seduction like this temptress in my arms. I was green enough that I was already half-turned on by the dancing we'd been doing, and she knew it. I didn't understand why she was with me; she was beautiful enough — and probably rich enough, judging by what she wore — that she could have anyone. What I did understand, though, was that she was asking for more than just allowing her to lead.

"Maybe," I admitted, hesitating. "Why me?"

A faint shadow of sadness flittered across her face and then was gone. "I like you, Ray. I find you attractive. Isn't that reason enough?" She drew me closer and into the next song, and I soon forgot why I should refuse her.

By morning, we had danced in every way possible. Against the soft cotton of her high-class hotel's sheets, it seemed as though neither of us could get enough. Her hands were calloused but soft, unlike Stella's hands that had never known hard labor. I hadn't known that could be such a turn on until that night. I felt like I was drowning in sensation, like I was every inch the inexperienced man I was — and yet, Amanda didn't seem to mind. She was a vocal, responsive lover, and for once, I wasn't the one who knew what to do, the way I always was with Stella. Amanda didn't laugh at my relative inexperience, my fumbling and uncertain caresses, but instead told me what she wanted, what pleased her. There wasn't any holding back that night. I don't think I could have, not the way Amanda was touching and stroking me.

Like a man parched, I drank in the pleasure she offered me, soaked up the subtle education she gave me, and gloried in the freedom of being with someone who accepted me as I was. It didn't matter that I started out the night having only kissed one girl, and only gotten as far as third base. In the slow, consuming heat of our passion, Amanda made me feel like I was all the man she needed.

In one night, she gave me the reassurance I'd needed, craved, and hadn't gotten from Stella — and yet, being with her only reinforced the knowledge that I would love Stella until the day I died. In the morning, I woke up alone in Amanda's hotel room, no goodbye note, nothing but the memory of passion, her first name, and a smearing of her lipstick on my T-shirt.

Yesterday was the first time I'd seen her since then. I hadn't ever forgotten her — shoved her in the back of my mind along with all the other stuff that I didn't like thinking about, sure — but forget? No. Even if I hadn't been much of a stud, I don't think I'd forget Amanda.

I'll admit the last place I expected to see her was hanging from a rappelling rope, prepared to take the glittering necklace from its glass case. Her back had been to me as I'd yelled at her to freeze, my gun drawn in automatic defense/threat, and she'd spun slowly to face me.

"You." I'd nearly gasped the word. "I know you."

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met before, certainly not under these circumstances, not that I meet many people this way...." The denial was automatic, rehearsed, but somehow, I knew she lied. I'd worked enough undercover to see I'd not only caught her in the act, but literally off-balance. Deliberately, I stepped a bit closer.

"I don't know who your plastic surgeon is or how you look exactly like you did when I was seventeen, but damn, Amanda...." I let my voice trail off.

"I'm not Amanda, you must be thinking of my mother— " she started.

"Bullshit. I wondered why you had lockpicks in your purse all those years ago." She'd claimed to have forgotten her hotel room key, and I'd been just drunk enough to find breaking into a hotel room thrilling. "Now I know."

Recognition flared in her eyes. For the longest moment, she stared at me, calculating, no doubt, whether to trust me. Amanda favored me with a half-shrug and offered, "You could let me go, for old times' sake."

Amused, I shook my head. "Nah, see, that would mean I'd be breaking the law, and as I'm supposed to enforce it...."

She sighed and held out her wrists for the handcuffs. Clearly, this wasn't the first time she'd been arrested. I started towards her to put them on and began reciting her rights, and then....

Fraser tells me that she knocked me out with some martial arts kick and escaped. I don't know, and frankly, I don't care. She knocked me for a loop all those years ago. I'm not sure if I want to remember her as a thief I arrested, but... I can deal with nearly arrested.

Yeah.

Damned if I know why, either.

Maybe in twenty years I'll understand what happened tonight the way I understand what happened way back then.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I won't dream of her tonight, and all the things I've lost.


End file.
